Every Second
by Bittersweet Romanticide
Summary: It's said that every second, somewhere in the universe, a star goes supernova, and Misty can't help compare the explosion of the brightest stars to the imminent explosion of the brightest boy she knows. Heroes always go in the worst ways.


It wasn't the first time she snuck out of camp, and it probably wouldn't be the last. No, her hand would often find the cool, metal zipper in the dark, gripping it 'til her knuckles turned white, would often slide the thing down, eyes closed as the slow motion took an eternity. It had to be slow, she had to keep the noise below the chirping of insects and hooting of pokémon. The cover would be pulled away – slowly, again – though this was thanks to her reluctance to feel the cold night air than a fruitless attempt at being utterly silent. She would roll to her stomach, to the stomped down grass, bounce to her feet and scan the campsite, just as she did that night.

Her eyes always settled on Brock first, because he was the safest. He was the heaviest sleeper, barely deserving a glance as her eyes continued on. Pikachu was next, undoubtedly the lightest sleeper of the bunch. Misty had never managed to wake up without disturbing the mouse as well. A yellow head lifted, a yellow ear flicked, and then that same yellow head dropped once more. If Misty ran off, it was all fine and dandy with her. So Misty snatched up her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and set her eyes on the last one of the group. If there was anyone to be worried about waking, it would be him.

Ash was somewhere in the middle, lighter than her and Brock, heavier than the pokémon. Often times he would catch her with the zipper down, more often when she got to her feet or when she snatched up her bag. She would explain she was going to the bathroom, and he would nod and say, "I'll wait." In the middle of the night, woken by her slightest movement, he told her he would wait, like some crazed mother afraid that her kid couldn't make it down the hall to the bathroom. He said he would stay up until she was back in her bed.

And then he _did_. The crazy boy did the same thing to Brock. No matter how long she took (and she never took long anymore, because it always left her feeling guilty), she would come back to find him with his arms behind his head, stargazing like it was nine o' clock at night instead of three in the morning. He would be sure she was back in her sleeping bag, and then he'd start snowing an instantly, like her back on the ground flipped some sort of switch.

He was sleeping through tonight. Maybe she looked too long because waking up like he did could be unnerving, or maybe she stayed because she didn't mind watching them sleep, watching him sleep especially. She loved the rise and fall of his chest, the quick breaths of the pokémon beside him. She even loved Brock's impossibly slow breaths, sometimes so subtle she scared herself into thinking he wasn't breathing. He always was, though waking him up to make sure he was still alive could be embarrassing at times.

She had friends, _true _friends, and they were safe. She drank the air in gulps as she watched them, hands clenching tight at her sides. For now, they were safe. For how long, she couldn't guess.

And she didn't dwell on it. She didn't want to guess what would happen tomorrow, and, if not then, then perhaps the next day. No, it was time to swallow that lump in her throat and march, march through the woods without a trip or a stumble, promising herself that bugs weren't real and just a terrible, terrible figment of her imagination. The positive thinking must have done her well, as not a single bug crossed her path, and though she searched, not a single ant hill could be found on the grassy bump she rested on, staring up at the dark night sky, all quiet but for the usual night noises: pokémon, bugs, the sound of a pokeball opening and a strange little sound from her yellow monster.

"Back in the ball, you dumb duck," she told it. It wasn't too fierce and it wasn't too angry. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts, in the stars to pay much attention to whether or not Psyduck had a bad case of wanderlust. He probably did, with the way he kept popping in and out. Sometimes she wondered if she should just let him out all the time, though he seemed perfectly capable of escaping whenever he felt like.

"Psyduck."

"I don't care," she said, though she had no clue what he was trying to say. "Get back in your ball."

"Psyduck."

She turned her head to stare at him, glaring keenly into his big, glassed over eyes. "Psyduck. Water type. Not a psychic type, not ever, not even when you evolve. You know, psychic moves, sure, but that's not your type. I've always wanted one of you, to raise into a Golduck, but I didn't catch you. You were supposed to be weird because you were hypnotized, but you weren't. You were just weird. Then you caught yourself, you silly thing. I don't understand you. I've got no idea what you're saying. Nobody does. Red dwarf, that's what you are. You don't do much, don't say much, just exist and burn and burn and burn. You don't do anything, and you know what the irony is? You'll never die, will you? You life means nothing and will go on forever. Older than what made you."

She rolled on her stomach and pulled herself to him, voice low. "Were you there when Pokemopolis fell? Did you sit on the sidelines and watch? You were too scared to move? Is that why we can't understand you? What language do you talk in, you dumb duck? It's nothing I can understand, even the other pokémon don't understand you! But you know, and you'll keep knowing. I'll die and you'll still be here, living and living until the universe ends and takes you with it. And how is that fair? How's it fair when you do nothing and live forever because of your stupid slow burning ways when the brightest stars can barely hold themselves together, then die in a giant explosion. And it's the explosion people want to see, not the life of that stupid boy even though you know he's got to have more than ten years."

Her head had been falling during the whole speech, lower and lower. It had started, looking intimidating at first, but weakened as her expression did. It finally fell then, into the grass which poked and prodded and stung her cheeks. She liked to think that she had managed to find the only spot of dew covered grass, and that was why her face felt so wet, but her voice was shaking as she whispered, "He's just got to."

"Uh, I don't have a disease, right?" Ash asked nervously. "Because I think you were talkin' about me, and I didn't know I was dying."

She jerked up at the sound, wiping so-called dewdrops away and hugging her knees to her chest. There was Ash Ketchum, lying on the slant of the hill, eyes wide like he truly believed that statement. For a moment, neither talked, and Misty watched him go up and down with the same, steady kind of breath he had while he was sleeping. Still breathing. Still alive. Still burning brighter than any other star in the sky, brighter than anything on the planet. It calmed her, to see him there meant that he was real, Brock was real, that it all wasn't some sick little fantasy she had made up before she went to bed. She hoped against hope that it _was _real, and she would be able to see the world before her town and gym drew her back by her bloodlines.

And when she had watched him breathe enough, she spoke, "I don't think you've got a disease Ash. You look fine to me. Let's check! Stick out your tongue." She closed her eyes tight, winkled her nose, and stuck her tongue out at him as an example.

He ignored her teasing, shaking his head. "You were talking about me like I was gonna-"

"We're all gonna…sometime." She hid her face in her legs, muttering into them: "Some go quieter than others, was all I was saying. I was talking about how Psyduck would never die, that he was going to live forever, and about how he'll go really quietly and you'll go with a giant bang."

"So I _am_ gonna die!" he cried, little hands digging into the grass with shock. "I knew it! I have been feeling down lately. I have a history of people dying in my family, of diseases and stuff. Almost all of them died from some sort of disease, so it only makes sense that I would too Why didn't you tell me sooner? I can take it! Do I have to go to the hospital? _Have _I been going to the hospital and I haven't noticed? You're brainwashing me, aren't you? I can't believe I'm going to _die!_"

"No!" she shouted, a protest to the fact rather than his statement. Then, more calmly: "Not yet. Not for a very, _very _long time, Ash. You're going to live a long life, just like me, and we're going to be happy and do well and even though you don't have any talent as a battler I'm sure you'll find something you're good at."

"Hey!" Now it was his turn to stick his tongue out at her. "I'm plenty good at battling. And you were talking about Psyduck being a legendary because he would live forever and he saw Pokemopolis go down and me dying and all sorts of boring, depressing stuff. Why were you talking about it? You already said that I wasn't dying, so I don't see why you would bring it up, unless you know someone who's dying. No one's dying, are they?"

"Someone's always dying," she retorted.

"Someone you know," he pressed.

She grinned and fell to her back again. "Well, I know stars and most of the ones we see are already dead. At least one of them, somewhere in the universe, is probably dying right now. They say one star goes supernova every second. Somewhere in the universe there's always a star blowing up. So, I know a lot of dead things, I guess. It's not weird for kids, to think about death – trainers especially. There's adventure around every turn, but that adventure comes with danger…and probably death. There's usually death. Mew, Ash, what hasn't tried to kill you? Drowning, falling, shot, blown up, eaten…I couldn't find more ways if I tried."

"Kidnapped by pirates and thrown overboard."

"Drowning."

"Fine. Stabbed by Team Rocket."

"Ash!" She glared at him, chin pressed into the clay. "You're impossible!"

"But I'm fun," he said, smiling all the while. "And, more importantly, I'm not dead! I'm nowhere near dead. I could run a marathon and still have the energy to pummel Gary and his stupid pokémon into the ground." He scowled then, dropping his head low and growling deep in his throat: "Pikachu could beat his stupid squirtle any day."

"It's probably evolved by now," she argued.

"Pikachu could still win, couldn't we buddy?"

But Pikachu was snoring away, content to be by Ash despite his constant arguments with Misty. She never minded sleeping through the loudest of arguments, and yet somehow knew every time Team Rocket attacked or there was some kind of real trouble involved. She hardly twitched an ear when he said her name, paying more attention to Psyduck's noises than her master's, though he _was _being quite noisy.

"But we're supposed to be staying on topic. You were talking about the stars before, and how they die, not just me. At least, I think they're stars. Stars go supernova, but you also started talking about dwarves or something weird. I didn't get it." He crawled up and laid beside her. "So tell me what you meant."

"Small stars live forever," she said with a sigh and waved to Psyduck, who pecked at the grass as if he would manage to find something edible to munch on. There were a couple of pebbles, but they weren't quite as tasty as he had hoped. "That's those red dwarfs I was talking about. No one knows how they die, but we're guessing that they just burn out. Then, there's the medium stars, like our sun, that live a medium time, and when they die they just sorta shed layers until they're all gone. And then there are the big ones, those are the stars those are the stars you see in the sky. They live a little while, then they explode."

"_Explode?_" he asked with little boy enthusiasm.

She nodded. "It's called a supernova when they blow up. Well, the term is basically a star goes supernova, but, in the end, it just means they blow up. They're radioactive and if one blew up close enough to our planet, we'd drop dead because of all the little atoms that come whizzing by. Some are always going by, and even when one blows up in _another _galaxy they find out that particles are _still _flying at us."

"Or turn into mutants," Ash said, grinning. "That's what happens when you get hit with radioactive stuff sometimes. You end up getting superpowers."

"No. We _die_. We die every single time we come in contact with that stuff. It's like bullets small enough to kill your _cells, _Ash. It's not some mystical chemical. It's hydrogen and helium and that kind of stuff, except they're moving really fast so instead of just floating away from you they rip you apart and kill you, even though you can't see it. There's no mutations involved. No Spiderman powers for you."

"Radioactive spiders," he pointed out with a giggle, walking his fingers up her arm. "The itsy bitsy spider."

She whacked his hand away. "I'm not scared of nursery rhymes. I know it's you and not a stupid spider."

"Not until you've got your curds and whey, huh, Miss Muffet? Along came a spider who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away!" He laughed, and, abruptly steered the topic back to its original course: "And I'm a big star. And Psyduck's a little star. That's what you meant. So Psyduck will burn out and I'll blow up, right? And you and Brock, since you're big stars too, you'll blow up like me. Does that mean we're all going to go together?"

"Me and Brock? We're not big stars." She snorted. "You're the only big star I know, or even heard of! Well, at least that isn't dead. You're going to be in the history books, and when those are gone, in legends. You're the kind of bright, shining star that glows forever."

"But you said that the big stars die faster," he pushed.

"Yeah, but that's because…while you're here, you're bright, so bright you wash out all the other stars near you. Me, Brock…it's not us people remember, don't want to remember, it's you. Maybe if they try, if they do enough research, they can find us, but we still aren't important enough to write down. You're so thrilling and fascinating that people remember you before they remember anything else. They'd rather remember you. You're more exciting. You're brighter, get it?"

He thought (for once) about making a cute remark about never being called bright before, but thought better of it, and she continued, "Because you're so bright, lots of people see you, you'll make a difference in a lot of people lives. Brock and me…we make a bit of a difference, we'll do a bit for humanity, but it's doubtful we'll get more than a brief mention in a textbook. There's more of us then you, and then there's the biggest category, those are the red dwarfs.

"Those are the people who don't do anything, who don't care, who don't matter, any they only get notice because they live so long. But they only live so long because they never do anything, and the saddest thing of all is that they can't. The just exist their entire lives, breathe, eat, live, never Accomplish any goals or dreams, and they're happy. I can't understand it. They're happy even though they're not worth a thing, that they don't make a difference, that they're making more worthless kids.

"Meanwhile, you're out there trying your hardest, doing your best, but no matter what you do people will always remember how you died, because it'll be beautiful. You're going to die in a beautiful, beautiful way, and people will cry, but it's _better _this way. This was how he would have _wanted _to go. A beautiful flash of light, brighter than your entire life put together…and then it's over. And we're still here. And we go quietly, shooting off light and heat trying to make a few final differences before we go as if doing good stuff is going to delay it any. And the tiny stars just burn away, and no one notices."

They sat in silence for a moment before Ash burst, "That's an awful way to see it."

"Well, the universe isn't as beautiful as it looks down here. We skip over the bad and see the starlight, the really bright stars. We see the destruction and death and explosions and find them beautiful. We do the same thing with history. We can romanticize even…even the worst times. You've seen the movies they make. Trust me, what people see and love more than anything else are the supernovas. You want to see the star die."

It was quiet again for a while, and he did his best to ignore the obvious fact that she was trying not to cry – not that he would blame her if she did, because if he ever thought about the death of _any _of his friends, family, or pokémon. He'd be sobbing like he'd been shot in the leg. And, when he finally did speak, he put quite a bit of thought into it because he was terrified the wrong thing would make her cry, and he wasn't good with criers. He never dealt with crier. Almost never. And when he did he could never do anything more than make funny faces and beg the person to stop. So, he used those non-confrontational words Brock kept forcing on them: _I think_.

"I think that people…people aren't stars," he said slowly, "I think that people are just people. And I think metaphors are stupid. I think that I'm not going to die, because I'm too good at battling and I think that your ideas are stupid, and you and Brock are giant stars too, and you're going to be the best breeder and water master the world has ever seen. You'll each get your own chapter in the history book."

She laughed at that, covering her mouth at the too loud sound. "You dork!"

"_And _I _think _that _if _I ever died, I wouldn't feel happy to go no matter how heroic the death was. I'd be mad because I died and I didn't even get the medals and the trophy to show off to the world. Besides, what if I still had to be a master? Nuh-uh. _If_, and that's _completely _impossible, but _if_ I ever did die heroically and someone told you that, you can punch them in the head and say, 'that's from Ash Ketchum!'"

She laughed with him, laughed big and loud until they were sprawled out on the hill, breathing heavy and drunk of starlight and wilderness. Psyduck had cuddled up next to Pikachu, whore snored like not a single person had said a single word in the gloom. And the laughter stopped and the fun stopped and it was immeasurably serious again. The two ten years olds, all alone, thinking about death at midnight.

"It's not a stupid metaphor, is it, Ash?" She gulped, suddenly feeling like the universe was much too big. "Heroes die young and the weak never die."

He set his hand on hers, squeezing it gently, comfortingly, and said the words she never wanted to hear: "It's better this way."

And with every second that passed, another star went supernova.

**

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**

I've been messing with this for quite some time, but it never seems to come out right. This is the best I can get it, so I'm sorry if this terrible mess has burned your eyes.


End file.
